


Nightswimming

by StealthKaiju



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, references to Tarsus IV, references to past abuse, weirdly specific swimming advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthKaiju/pseuds/StealthKaiju
Summary: Spock is out of his depth.He is literally in a pond, learning to swim, and metaphorically drowning in his feelings.





	1. Son of a Vulcan

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the year between the events of Khan and the beginning of the Enterprise’s exploratory mission.
> 
> Was aiming for sweet over schmaltz.

Doctor McCoy may be as dramatic as a pantomime dame, but even Spock would have to admit he was a highly intelligent man, and a gifted physician. So when he crossed his arms and looked at Kirk without even blinking, speaking as slowly and clearly as his accent would allow, Kirk knew he was in for it.

 

‘If you think I’m going to let _you_ ’, he paused to point at Kirk, ‘out of my sight, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.’ He wiggled his finger. ‘There’s no way you’re going to escape your physical therapy, and I don’t hate anyone enough to pass you on as a patient.’

 

Kirk smiled. Good old Bones, such a charmer. ‘I’m not that bad,’

 

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘I managed to write a whole third-year thesis on your allergies alone.’

 

‘You know, I never gave permission for that.’

 

McCoy made a pfft sound, and put his hands on his hips. ‘You can’t stand in the way of science. Anyway, not the point. You’re staying with me for the next month or so, on Earth, and we’ll work on getting you back to normal.’

 

Kirk’s grin grew wider. ‘And the fact that you have someone to help you look after Joanna is purely coincidental…’

 

McCoy cleared his throat. ‘Well, as a doctor I am compelled to “first do no harm”. After that, it’s pretty much open to interpretation.’

 

‘That line isn’t actually part of the Hippocratic Oath. It came into common usage –‘

 

‘Shut up before I hypo you.’

 

*

 

Spock had been staring at the same sentence for two point four minutes. He knew what each word meant separately, but as a contextual whole it made no sense.

 

_Article Five, sub-section C: All crew members must possess a basic proficiency in swimming and rudimentary water safety skills._

Swimming? He was going onto an exploratory space vessel. How wrong did a mission have to go for swimming to be a viable option?

 

Still, even as a member of a high-density desert-dwelling species, it could be worse. He could be Caitian.

 

Without conscious thought he reached for his padd to give Nyota his opinion on the new regulations, but stopped himself in time. Their last conversation had been brief, almost whispered in the corridor outside the room where the captain had been hooked up to life support.

 

She had been kind, yet her eyes had been very sad. Spock could not fault her logic, even if he would not concede that her analysis was accurate. His feelings for the captain were perhaps complicated, but what Nyota suggested… no, he would not dwell on it.

 

Now, how did one learn to swim?

 

*

 

_Spock_ , said the message. _I have been here less than two days and Joanna has already exhausted me._

Spock was glad the captain was well, but he felt he did not need to be kept abreast of his latest tryst.

 

_Seriously… this will be what kills me._

Ah irony. He had read up on the subject. Before he could compose a reply, his padd flashed again.

 

_She’s even worn Bones flat-out._

Spock could feel his face grow warm, and knew a greenish tinge had spread over the tips of his ears.

 

_Captain_ , he started to type. _What proclivities you indulge in, and with whom, are really not my concern._

There were no messages for a few minutes. Spock began to regret his actions. His comment had been insubordinate, and could be perceived as abrasively judgemental. He was about to prepare an apology when the padd dinged, signalling an incoming call from the captain’s line. Breathing in deep to compose himself, he accepted the call.

 

Instead of the captain’s face the screen was filled with pink. It seemed to sparkle. He could hear the soft lilt of the captain’s laughter and Doctor McCoy’s voice off-screen saying ‘hold it a little further away from your head sweetheart.’

 

There was a small human female calling him. This must be Joanna. She was wearing a bright pink tiara and dungarees, and had chocolate round her mouth. ‘Hello Commander Spock!’ she said in a high-pitch, and then ‘your ears are pointy!’

 

Spock felt his mouth twitch. ‘Yes. I see your powers of observation are of the same exacting standard as Doctor McCoy’s.’

 

There was a snort off-screen that had to be the doctor. There were a few seconds of fumbling while Joanna, obviously bored, had passed the padd to the captain and rather than jumping off his lap had more fallen slowly off. Spock could hear her footsteps and a sigh from the doctor as he wandered after her. The captain just winked at him, holding up a finger to signal not to say anything. After a few seconds, a door could be heard closing and the captain looked right into the camera.

 

‘Really Spock? Proclivities?’

 

Spock lowered his eyes. ‘I apologise Captain.’

 

‘Jim. We don’t even have a ship yet, and I need you to do me a favour.’ Kirk coughed. ‘Okay, I want you to do me a favour, but I don’t want you to feel compelled, and certainly not feel like it’s an order.’

 

Spock quirked an eyebrow. A favour was often human code for asking someone to do something detrimental to their health or well-being. ‘What would that be, Jim?’

 

A beatific smile greeted the use of his name. ‘Well, as lovely as Joanna is, she is running Bones and me ragged. With the PT on top, I am…’ he sighed, and Spock could see the slight bruising under the eyes signifying lack of sleep. The captain ( _Jim_ , he thought, a slight shiver running down his spine, which he would _not_ acknowledge) was still looking a bit thinner round the face than he had been, his skin a little paler than it had been before. ‘I’m just tired Spock. There are a load of reports to go through before we disembark, and it would be nice to get some of your feedback on them in person rather than going over it by padd messages.’

 

Jim’s eyes flickered to look off-screen, presumably at the door. He lowered his voice. ‘Plus if someone else was here to check up on me for a few days, it would give Bones a chance to be with his daughter without worrying about yours truly.’ A sad smile crossed his lips. ‘He hardly ever gets to see her.’

Spock nodded. ‘I have some work to do on behalf of my father’s office, yet I should be free to join you in seven days.’

Jim smiled again. ‘That would be much appreciated, thank you Spock. Uhura won’t mind, will she?’

Spock thought the direct approach was best. ‘We are no longer romantically involved. She will not need to be apprised or concerned with my whereabouts.’

Jim’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Gods, I’m so sorry Spock. I… if there’s anything I can do…’

 

‘My requirements are met in my current location, and I am sure that any necessities regarding my physical and nutritional needs will be served when I visit you, Doctor McCoy and his daughter.’

‘I meant, if you want to talk…’

‘We are talking now.’

 

Jim sighed, running his hand through his hair. A tic that showed he was nervous or fretful.

‘Okay Spock. If you need or want to talk about _this_ specifically, or if you just want some time to yourself…’

Spock felt like sighing himself. Humans could be exasperating. ‘I will have time to myself, all of seven days.’

Jim smiled, though it did not meet his eyes. Spock recognised this particular one of quiet resignation. ‘Okay, Spock, it would be great to see you.’ He cleared his throat, most likely to signify an abrupt turn in subject matter rather than to dislodge a foreign object. ‘Also, I’ve just seen the new addendum about the swimming. How are you at swimming Spock?’

 

‘I will admit that in that particular regard I am not up to a standard befitting my rank and experience.’

 

Jim winked at him again. ‘Bring a swimsuit Spock.’

 

*

 

The house Bones had procured was a small guesthouse in Avignon, set apart from the rest of the houses on the road. The May temperatures had already risen to 24.5 Celsius, a pleasantly warm climate for most Terrans but still too cold for Spock, who was dressed in his usual three layers. He did get a slightly odd look from the driver of the shuttlecar, but dismissed it. ‘Merci,’ he said, and the man smiled.

 

His knock at the door (no bell or video identification system – how old was this house? Should Spock worry about its structural integrity?) was answered by Joanna, who in height came to barely his waist.

 

‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely, raising his left hand in the ta’al. Joanna copied the gesture without comment, instead thrusting a small blue teddy bear at Spock.

 

‘This is Mister Pickles. He says hello and come in.’

 

Spock was, to use a human idiom, out of his depth. He nodded at Joanna, then at the bear. ‘Thank you Mister Pickles’ he replied in his usual sombre tone.

 

There was a short burst of laughter from the doorway off to Joanna’s left, and Jim sauntered into view. He smiled at Spock and waved him in.

 

(Spock’s heart did not flutter. That would be nonsensical.)

 

Joanna seemed to be overcome with shyness, and pulling the bear in front of her face she ran off into the house. Spock stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. ‘Captain, how are you?’

 

‘It’s Jim, and I think ‘Thank you Mister Pickles’ is now my favourite thing you’ve ever said.’

‘I did not realise you were compiling such a list.’

Jim grinned, and turned to walk towards a door further up the hall. He seemed to be limping slightly, and his movements were stiffer than they had been. ‘Follow me then.’

 

Jim took him to a small bedroom with a single bed, wardrobe, desk and computer terminal, with a window overlooking a wild, overgrown garden. Tall bushy weeds could be seen swaying up against the glass, a few butterflies and bees settling on blue and red buds. ‘So, this is your room, mine is opposite, Bones and Jo are upstairs. Our bathroom – and before you say anything about calling washrooms ‘bathrooms’ when they do not contain baths, this one does, as well as a sonic – is down the hall. Standard replicator in the kitchen, nothing too fancy but I’ve programmed a few codes for Vulcan dishes into it. There is also an oven and equipment for cooking from scratch.’

 

Spock placed his bag on the floor by the bottom of the bed, and went to look out the window. The humming of the insects and susurration of the wind through the grass was pleasant, a soft lull that was calming. No other noise could be heard. ‘It seems very peaceful here.’

 

There was a thump and crashing noise from another room down the hall, and the sound of Joanna giggling. From where they were they could hear the sound of footsteps running up the stairs and grumbling from McCoy as he chased after her.

 

Jim sighed theatrically, but his smile was still in his eyes. ‘Now you see why Bones got a house away from any neighbours.’

 

*

 

Spock settled into a comfortable routine over the next few days. He rose early, 0609 on the chronometer, and allowed himself to appreciate the view for a moment. He then meditated as they sky turned from the cocktail mix of pink and purple to the azure blue of Jim’s eyes.

 

Each morning he noticed the similarity of the clear sky to his friend’s eyes, and each time he chastised himself for noticing.

 

He made breakfast for the others (as he was a guest, it was traditional), and slowly waited while the others came to eat. Joanna always came in first, with some sort of headgear. So far Spock had catalogued the pink tiara, a facsimile of a police officer’s helmet, and, on one memorable occasion, a tall black top hat with a red cuddly toy parrot on the rim. She was usually followed by Doctor McCoy (“Leonard will be fine Spock, we ain’t on duty – besides the way you say it gives me the heebie jeebies”), and then, later, Jim.

 

Spock would sit with Joanna for an hour while Jim did physical therapy with the doctor. Usually this involved reading, though very little of the text was read as Joanna insisted on asking questions every other sentence and Spock was encouraging of any intellectual curiosity.

 

‘Sammy has a big red ball’ Spock read.

‘Why is it red?’ Joanna asked immediately.

‘I am not sure. Do you mean ‘why does it appear red?’ That is a question of wavelengths of light. Light waves fall in a visible spectrum – at least to the human eye - between red and violet, and the colour of an object is determined by the colour of light it reflects and absorbs.’

Joanna nodded solemnly.

 

‘If you are asking why the colour has been chosen by the author, I can only assume that it is some sort of symbol or metaphor for the character’s psychological state.’ Spock huffed quietly. ‘Terran literature is full of important information about plot or motive being deliberately obfuscated in symbolic or obscure ‘hints’ only to be revealed in the last few pages.’ He looked at Joanna. ‘It is most infuriating.’

 

‘Maybe red is Sammy’s favourite colour…’ she said.

Spock nodded. ‘That would make sense. Or maybe it just is.’

‘My favourite colour is pink. And purple. Also green. What’s yours Mister Spock?’

Spock did consider pointing out that it was illogical to have a favourite colour, but found himself answering ‘blue – sky blue’ instead.

Joanna nodded again. ‘That’s my favourite too.’

 

Needless to say, these, and similar exchanges meant that a single picture book could occupy them for the whole hour.

 

Spock would work before lunch on data sent to him from the Vulcan Science Academy and its associates, mostly concerning soil samples and which flora and fauna it would be best to try and reintroduce first. If Spock were capable of pettiness, part of him would be pleased to know that many of those who corresponded with him seeking his expertise were the same individuals who once derided him for his mixed heritage. He did this in his room, allowing himself some odd moments of reprieve to gaze out of the window. He sometimes heard the odd squeak from Joanna or a mumbled groan from the doctor but it did not disturb his work.

 

The captain – Jim – spent the time in his room, where he was meant to be resting. Spock had seen no need to encroach on Jim’s privacy to validate this.

 

In the afternoons Jim and Spock would go over reports with each other in the kitchen, while the doctor and his daughter would walk into town, giving them a few hours before Joanna came bounding back in. They would eat an early dinner as a group, then Spock would meditate. After Joanna would be put to bed, the other two men would stay a few hours in the lounge just talking.

 

The first two nights he left them to it, spending the evening in his room or walking round the grounds in the twilight. He did not wish to intrude. On the third night Jim asked him to join them.

 

He sat on the couch next to Jim, distant enough that they were not touching but close enough to feel the warmth from his body. The doctor – Leonard – was leaning against the fireplace, one arm frantically waving as he recounted his story. ‘So, there I was, ready to operate, over the anesthetised patient, when I look down and realise that the spleen is in the wrong place.’

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘How is that possible? And how did it remain undetected when you ran your initial scans?’

 

Leonard looked to him, face flushed with excitement. ‘Aha! Good question. An engorged spleen had shown up on the scan, hence the decision to operate. Yet, by the time we got the guy open…’ he paused, to presumably ramp up the dramatic tension and not because he was experiencing a lapse in memory, ‘…it had moved!’

 

Spock was sceptical, and said so.

 

Leonard did not let the scepticism affect him – he was in the middle of an anecdote after all. ‘No, not only had it moved, but it had _tentacles._ ’

 

There was a groan from Jim. ‘Why are all your tales from work so disgusting?’

 

A small evil smile formed on McCoy’s lips. ‘I have lots of stories about _you_ , if you’d rather I told those.’

 

Jim’s eyes widened. ‘No, we’re good with the awful med school stories, thank you.’

 

*

 

It was a good routine. So on the seventh day, when in the late afternoon Jim knocked at his door holding what looked like the skinned hide of some aquatic mammal, Spock was naturally perturbed.

 

‘This,’ said Jim, shaking out the material, ‘is a wetsuit. They are a pain to get on, not the most flattering things, but they will help against the cold.’

 

He held it out to Spock, who took it carefully to avoid accidentally touching his fingers. It seemed to be made of some synthesised rubber. ‘Neoprene’ Jim said in answer to the question Spock had not yet asked.

 

‘Fascinating. And I am to wear this under my garments?’

A slight blush glossed over Jim’s cheeks. ‘No, you wear it instead of clothes.’ He cleared his throat, and began to walk back to his room. ‘Best to get changed Commander. We are going swimming in ten minutes.’

 

*

 

There was a natural pond twenty metres away from the house, hidden from view by a copse of trees. It was a pool of five metres by six, roughly oblong in shape, and filled with still water that reflected the blue sky above it. Beside it on the grass there was a deck chair in the sun, next to it a bag filled with blankets and clothes and a thermos.

 

Jim walked to the side of the pool and crouched down, slightly wincing at stiff muscles. He dropped his legs in first and stood up, wading until he was waist height in the water.

 

(Spock internally breathed a sigh of relief. While Jim’s chest and abdomen were still incredibly distracting, at least he did not have to avoid looking at loose, low-slung shorts that clung over slim hips and powerful thighs.)

 

‘Okay,’ said Jim, a slight authoritative tone to his words. ‘Ideally you should never be in water that is deeper than your waist, unless it’s a swimming pool. Best to remember that warmer water is at the surface, especially water that is exposed to a light source, and that it gets colder as you go deeper.’

 

‘Thermal layering,’ Spock supplied.

 

A lesser commanding officer would have felt affronted to be interrupted, but Jim just smiled. ‘Exactly. Now before we start, the pond is around six foot deep, and the water 21 degrees Celsius, so it is pleasantly cool for me but will be uncomfortable for you.’

 

Spock surveyed the water, walking up to its edge. Stalling for time. ‘You are sure there are no other contaminants or potential irritants?’

 

Jim rolled his eyes. ‘You really think Doctor Leonard ‘Mother Hen’ McCoy would let me anywhere near a plan like this without tricording the hell out of this thing?’ He smiled. ‘There are a few fish, small enough to ignore, and a couple of mosquitoes, but I have bathed in repellent and they won’t go for your copper-based blood anyway.’

 

Spock unshod his shoes and dipped a bare toe in the water. _Bath’pa that was freezing._ He withdrew it hastily. ‘I fail to see in what way Doctor McCoy physically resembles a hen.’

Jim laughed. ‘In the proverbial sense only. Also, stop acting like a chicken, and come join me.’

Spock could feel his slight scowl. ‘You are mixing metaphors. It is irrational and illogical.’

‘Yes I am Commander, and I will keep doing it until you stop delaying the inevitable and get in the water.’

 

Spock waded in, and thank Surak for his Vulcan control, because the obscenities he would have said otherwise would bring only shame to the House of Sarek. He carried on until he was standing within arms-length of Jim.

 

‘Okay, so well done,’ Jim said, without any trace of sarcasm, just a gentle encouraging lilt to his voice. ‘Now I need you to walk a little out of your depth and pick your feet up off the bottom. You are then going to lean back and extend your arms and legs and just let yourself float, keeping your head above the water.’

 

Spock’s panic must have shown on his face, a shocking lack of control. Jim rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, a quick squeeze. From anyone else Spock would have hated the contact, but from Jim he found it reassuring. Jim looked right into his eyes. ‘You’ll be fine, Spock. I won’t let anything bad happen.’

 

Jim stepped back from him a little then put both hands in front of him in the water. He pulled out to his side until each hand was level to his elbow, palms facing forward. He then moved them through the water slowly, skimming up, then turning his palms to face backwards and pushing back down. He rotated his arms and began the cycle again. He did this a few times.

‘Um… that’s treading water.’ He looked a bit embarrassed. ‘You can also move your feet, as if you were riding a bicycle but kick out your legs to the side.’

 

He moved into the deeper water and began to ‘tread water’ as he had called it. It made him look ridiculous. He only grinned when Spock told him so. ‘Well, so will you,’ he replied.

 

Spock, though far more agile and stronger than his mostly Terran crew, did not take to swimming with the ease and efficacy that he did most other physical tasks. When he tried to apologise for this, Jim only smiled at him. ‘Thank god, even you can’t be perfect all the time.’

 

Jim began his lecture again. ‘Cold water shock can set the body into panic mode, meaning you’ll want to thrash around and gulp in air.’

 

Spock nodded. ‘This would be due to the human body’s initial and automatic response to rapid change in skin temperature. It causes an increase in breathing rate and blood pressure, as well as triggering the ‘fight or flight’ response.’

 

‘Yes. Now you, as a Vulcan may have an advantage over a human, because you can control your emotional and automatic reactions.’

 

‘You mean in not panicking and trying to swim, but by waiting until the body is calmer, the breathing more regulated. This position helps keep you afloat while you wait for your body to calm enough to either call for help or swim to safety.’ Spock could not fault the logic of it.

 

They trod water on and off for ten minutes, until Spock could feel himself shivering. Jim walked him to the bag, pulling out a woollen hat and gloves. He gestured for Spock to put them on, and while he was doing so he wrapped a big warm blanket around his shoulders. Spock was handed a thermos of hot Vulcan tea (his favourite blend – how had Jim replicated that?) and told to go back to the house immediately and get into a hot sonic shower.

 

*

 

Over the next three weeks Jim had shown him the basics: front crawl (‘for swimming quickly’); backstroke (‘great if you want to keep your mouth out of the water, but you can’t see where you’re going and water gets in your ears’); butterfly (‘think this was just made for people who are good at swimming to show up people who aren’t’); breaststroke (‘yes, it makes me look like a frog, but at least I can keep my head completely out of the water with this one’). Spock had practised with him and he was improving, just not at the rate he would have wanted. It did not help his ego that one afternoon Joanna came racing up from the trees, ran into the water, and swam quickly and easily up and down.

 

‘Okay,’ Jim whispered to him quietly so as not to be heard over Joanna’s splashing, ‘kids are officially the worst things ever.’

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I would not come to that conclusion, but genetics may be in play – after all, I find Doctor McCoy a consistent source of vexation, so naturally his progeny would be also.’

Jim started to laugh, turning it into a cough as McCoy glared in their direction.

 

*

 

It was a little past midnight when Spock heard a quiet sob from Jim’s room. He had been composing a message to his father and only heard it due to his superior hearing. He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Did he ignore it? Jim may not be awake, and even if he were he may not appreciate any intrusion. Did he go and see if Jim was in distress? While he was analysing his options, a louder cry came from the room, and Spock ascertained that the most logical thing would be to go check on his friend, in case his noises became louder and woke up the other inhabitants.

 

He walked to Jim’s door and quietly knocked. There was a pause and the sound of shuffling within, and it opened to reveal a sleep-tousled Jim in pyjamas. He rubbed his eyes, and looked at Spock. ‘Hey, um, is something wrong?’ he asked softly.

‘No, I…’ Spock hesitated. ‘I heard you cry out, and thought it may be expedient to see if there was a matter in which I could be of some assistance.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘I apologise if I have disturbed you needlessly.’

Jim shook his head. ‘No, no, it’s… I just…’ He sighed. ‘I get these nightmares, and…um…’

 

Spock did not usually find cause to employ figurative language, but the air around them seemed heavier, weighed down by what was not being said.

‘I should leave you to your rest. Again, my apologies.’

Jim’s hand moved out, then drew back in an aborted gesture. ‘Wait,’ he whispered in a rush. ‘Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?’

Spock refrained from pointing out that to answer one question in the affirmative would essentially answer both. ‘I was in the middle of composing a response to my father regarding a diplomatic issue involving a Tellerite ambassador trying to eat a Starfleet Admiral’s dog.’ He noticed Jim smirking. ‘No activity that could not be delayed or interrupted.’

Jim shuffled his feet. Was he nervous? ‘In that case, are you free for a while? Maybe get a drink in the kitchen?’

Spock assented, and the two of them crept into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them before powering up the replicator.

 

Jim leant against the kitchen counter, a cup of hot cocoa in his hands. Spock leant next to him holding his tea, a distance of sixteen point three centimetres between them. For a minute there was a silence, not uncomfortable, just a sense of something missing. Spock tried to think of something innocuous to talk about – god forbid, even small talk - but he should have known that Jim did not shy away from the awkward or the potentially harmful. It was one of Jim’s traits that simultaneously exasperated and fascinated him.

 

‘I have my physical and psyche eval in three months,’ Jim began, voice almost as monotone as a Vulcan’s. ‘If I don’t pass, they won’t give me the Enterprise. She will be going on her mission with or without me.’

Spock turned to face his friend, though Jim continued to stare in front of him. ‘You are anxious about the test?’

Jim snorted. ‘Fucking terrified.’

Spock put his tea down next to himself, and crossed his arms. ‘You are doing well in your physical recovery. You are getting stronger every day.’

 

Jim looked at him suddenly, eyes bright and wet. ‘It’s not the physical, it’s the psych!’ he exclaimed.  He looked down, seemingly embarrassed. ‘If they find me psychologically unfit for duty… if I’m grounded while they stock and crew the ship… I won’t…’

His hands began to tremble, and Spock gently took his cup away from him and set it next to his own.

‘If I don’t go…’ Jim’s voice seemed to fail him, and he broke into a quiet, choked sob. It was painful to hear, so much despair contained in a short, sharp sound. ‘Gods Spock, the stars are the only place I make sense!’

 

Jim dropped his head into his raised hands, and his shoulders shook with the effort of not crying. It was not working. Tears were running through his fingers, and his breaths were ragged and wheezy. Spock realised he was working himself up, as no doubt in his effort not to cry he was causing himself more anxiety.

 

Spock remembered as a young child being so upset that he had sat in his room, on his bed, and his mother had sat beside him. She did not reproach or chastise him, or tell him to stop, but simply waited. She gently rubbed circles onto his shoulder blades, just reminding him he was not alone and that he could take as long as he needed.

 

He did the same to Jim now, pleased when Jim did not flinch but leaned slightly closer to him. He had raised his shields in advance, but he could still feel the shame and the fear that was rolling off Jim. He concentrated in projecting his affection and his regard through his touch telepathy, hoping that Jim would take comfort from it.

 

After a few minutes the sobbing stopped, and Jim’s breathing became quiet and regular. He wiped his eyes then sniffed, rubbing his wet hands on his pyjamas. ‘Hell, I’m sorry you had to see that Spock.’

‘Embarrassment is illogical’ Spock replied immediately, and was gratified to see Jim’s lips quirk in a small smile. ’There is nothing to be ashamed of Jim’ he said softly. He realised he was still resting his hand on Jim’s shoulder and removed it quickly.

 

‘How do you know how to deal with a person crying? How can you cope with such an overflow of emotion when so many people I’ve known just panic when someone cries?’

 

Spock looked at his hands, unsure whether to be honest or just ignore the question. Then he realised that Jim would not judge him for it. ‘When I was a young child, I found it harder to control my emotional responses to the teasing of my peers –‘

‘You were bullied?’ Jim asked, his tone sharp.

‘In a way, yes, I was. I was considered to be weaker intellectually and less logical due to the inferiority of my mixed heritage.’

‘Bullshit,’ Jim almost spat.

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I am aware that they were inaccurate and irrational, weakened by their own biases and prejudice. Yet, at the time I took their condemnations and their censures to heart, as it were.’ He paused. ‘It was a cause of many physical altercations.’

Jim looked at him askance. ‘You got into fights.’

Spock nodded. ‘On several occasions.’

Jim’s mouth pursed in a thin line. ‘Kids can be little shits.’

‘An axiom true for all species, possibly.’

Jim huffed. ‘So, anyway, when you were young…’

Spock stared at the wall opposite. ‘My mother would sit with me. Waiting until I had tired myself out. She would not tell me to stop or not to cry, or that I was being irrational. She would rub my back, as I have done to you. I found it a physical comfort.’ He paused to look at Jim, a small wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. ‘I hope it was a comfort, and that I have not overstepped propriety.’

Jim smiled, and leaned his head to rest on Spock’s shoulder. ‘No, Spock. Thank you.’

 

There was another silence. Jim did not move his head and Spock was disinclined to let him.

‘I’m sorry. About your mother.’

Spock sighed. ‘Terran culture still confuses me. Why would you apologise for something that is not the result of your actions?’

Jim moved his head to look Spock in the eyes. ‘Sorry doesn’t mean an admission of guilt in that sense. In a way it means we empathise. Or, at least, we acknowledge your grief. That any suffering you are going through is valid, and to be respected.’

‘I see. Vulcans have a similar term then. It is _tushah nash-veh k’odu._ I grieve with thee.’

Jim touched his arm briefly. ‘Tushah nash-veh k’odu.’

Spock leaned into the other slightly. ‘Thank you Jim.’

Jim cleared his throat, looked down at his hands. ‘All that stuff I said… I didn’t mean it, and it’s not true…’

‘Jim,’ Spock began, trying to admonish. He knew the reasons, he held no animosity towards Jim over the matter, and he wanted to tell him.

‘Ni’droi’ik nar-tor’ Jim whispered. _Forgive me._

Spock looked into Jim’s eyes, saw nothing but regret and a desire to make amends. Spock was not good at reading human emotions, but Jim was so expressive and so honest, he could read him like a book, as his mother would have said.

 

And he realised he loved him. That he felt something more than just respect or regard, something more than fondness or friendship. He just did not know what that was, and it scared him.

 

Panic settled under his skin, a cold sensation as if he were back in the pond. It took a great deal of his control not to just run from the room, away from Jim and whatever it was he stirred in him.

 

Jim yawned, and pushed himself off the side. He placed a hand on Spock’s arm (Spock wanted to flinch away from it, wanted to take hold and pull it around himself, fold himself into Jim’s arms). ‘Goodnight Spock. And thank you.’

 

Spock replied ‘Goodnight’ and thank Surak his voice was steady. He waited until Jim had left, heard his slightly uneven tread back to his room and the door closing shut. He then ran into his room, like an animal might flee back to safety.

 

*

 

Jim had been in a coma for two weeks before he finally came round. Spock had spent an average of three point four hours by his bedside every day during that period. He would have spent more, but his duties as acting-captain prevented him.

 

After the first three days Doctor McCoy stopped commenting on the ‘pointy-eared sentinel’. On the fourth he already had a chair waiting for him and a cup of Vulcan tea.

 

He had read that talking to coma patients helped them to recover, a recognisable voice acting as a stimulus that aided an increase in brain activity. So Spock talked to him, his years as a professor meaning he could talk without need of a conversational partner for considerable lengths of time. He told him about the repairs to the ship and what decisions he had made over the crew rotation; he told him about administrative minutiae and preliminary laboratory results; he told him about the Terran literature he was reading, and the daily struggles with both Starfleet Command and civilian planning authorities.

 

On the seventh day he came out of sickbay to see Nyota waiting for him. It was then he realised that he missed a previously arranged appointment with her. An unforgiveable slight.

 

‘I am sorry Nyota, I have no excuse why –‘

‘Spock, it’s fine,’ she replied, but the clipped coldness of her voice belied her statement. She sighed. ‘Can we… can we just talk somewhere? Not here.’

Spock nodded, and followed as Nyota led him through the ship, not to either of their quarters as he had assumed but to an empty observation deck. Here she walked in looking at the viewscreen, keeping her back to him. Spock engaged the privacy lock on the door, then waited a few steps behind her. He did not speak.

 

There was a silence of two point six minutes before Nyota laughed softly. It had none of her usual warmth. ‘You know, most guys would have said something by now.’

Spock felt his answer to be self-evident, yet realised Terran conversation flowed more precipitously if all participants took turns to move it along. ‘I am not ‘most guys’.’

 

Nyota turned to look at him, her usually smiling face set in a neutral, almost blank expression. ‘No. You aren’t. And I think I used to want that, but now I realise that it doesn’t work for me anymore, or for you.’

Spock felt confused. ‘Nyota, for an exemplary communications officer and linguist, I perceive you to be currently inordinately obtuse.’

 

Nyota took a step towards him, crossing her arms. ‘I am ending our relationship Spock, because it is best for me and for you. I will always be your friend, and I wish you the best, but a romantic relationship between us is incompatible with our wants.’

 

She touched a hand to his arm briefly, squeezing it, then began to walk past him towards the door.

 

‘Nyota wait,’ Spock found his voice to be weaker than normal. He breathed deeply to regain control. ‘To what are you referring as incompatible? I find we are suitably matched in many areas, sharing many common interests and beliefs. Our time spent together is always productive and pleasant.’

 

Nyota laughed again, a cold harsh sound. ‘As friends we work really well. But as a couple? It just isn’t logical, not when I’m not the most important person to you.’

 

The swish sound of the door closing behind her was barely audible to Spock. He stood on the deck watching the stars, feeling unmoored and directionless. Lost. Alone.

 

In retrospect he realised he did nothing to prevent her; he gave no argument at the time, nor in the following days. He just accepted the reality of it, and continued his routine and his duties. _Kaiidth_. What is, is.

 

*

 

Spock sat in his room shocked. The captain had always been a source of _shaukaush_ to him, eliciting everything from anger, resentment and shame when they had first met to exasperation, incredulity and affection.

 

But love? Did he love him? In what way?

 

Spock began to walk up and down the room, in calm measured steps. He hoped the soft physical exertion would help facilitate his mental processes.

 

Jim was… Jim was the reason he had lost control after the reaction chamber. Seeing his lifeless body, separated by the glass, not even being able to touch him… he had lost part of himself that he did not know he had, but its removal had been agony. He had chased down Khan and beaten him, his rage burning in his blood like acid. He had no intentions of capture or of bringing him to justice. He would have torn him apart with his bare hands, torn him to pieces with his nails and teeth if necessary.

 

If Nyota had not stopped him, told him they needed Khan’s blood to save Jim, needed Khan alive, he would have killed him. Coated his face in his blood and carried his head above him, screaming to the sky like the warriors of ancient Vulcan.

 

He loved Jim. The loss of him had cut into Spock, ripping out all that made him what he was – he had become violent, feral; all control and composure and compassion gone in a frenzied, bestial chase.

 

He had lost his planet and his mother, but losing Jim… it was more than he could rationally process. So in his grief he had decided to forgo rationality in its entirety.

 

And Nyota… poor, sweet Nyota, she would have been witness to his fall. And she would have known that Jim was the cause.

 

No wonder she had walked away. How could she be expected to stay with someone who could not love her completely and utterly, the way she deserved to be loved?

 

He took out his padd, and after an hour of drafting was able to send her a short message:

 

_Nyota,_

_I hope you are well._

_I understand why you ended our romantic relationship. I harbour no ill will towards you, and I hope you can forgive me._

_I had no idea of my feelings. I have never, and would never, intentionally hurt you. You are the kindest, most brilliant individual I have met, and I want nothing for you but happiness._

_If possible, I would like to remain friends. Yet, I will respect your decision._

_Dif-tor heh smusma,_

_Spock_

*

 

His padd dinged with a new message as he was finishing his morning meditation:

 

_Spock,_

_We will always be friends. I think we will work better that way, though it may be awkward at first._

_I wish you all the best, and hope you too find happiness, as human as that is._

_Sochya eh dif,_

_Nyota_

*

 

Over the next few days Spock had to stop himself from blurting out his realisation. Every time Jim casually touched him (Jim was tactilely affectionate with his close friends), on the shoulder or on the arm, it took all his control not to touch him back. To place his hands on Jim’s shoulders. To run his hands through his hair. To take his hands and entwine their fingers…

 

Sweet Surak, what was wrong with him? Where was his discipline? Where was his control?

 

When a missive arrived from his father asking if he would be amenable to come to New Vulcan and help with some diplomatic work, Spock felt the timing was fortuitous. It had coincided with the Vulcan Science Academy officially asking him to contribute on a xenobotany project in situ. He would be away for at least a month or so. He accepted both requests.

 

*

 

With the taxi waiting outside, he had enough time to thank McCoy for his hospitality. The doctor just rolled his eyes, and thanked him for all his hours of babysitting. Joanna had hugged him round the waist then ran off without another word.

 

Jim smiled, though it looked a little strained. ‘Can’t look after me forever, can you Spock?’ he joked.

Spock’s voice was soft. ‘Unfortunately not.’

 

Spock wanted to say more, wanted to take Jim in his arms. Instead he picked up his bag and opened the door. ‘Doctor.’ He nodded to McCoy. ‘Captain’, he said to Jim, a quick quirk of his lips.

 

He was halfway to the taxi when Jim walked over to him. He waited, putting the bag down, as Jim stood fidgeting. ‘Was there something I neglected?’ Spock asked, genuinely concerned.

 

Jim looked a little nervous, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. ‘Okay, so there’s a Terran custom that usually happens when you stay with friends and then leave… it’s… okay, you’ll probably not be comfortable…’

‘Jim,’ Spock gently admonished. ‘What is the custom?’

A faint blush crept over Jim’s cheeks, a rose tinge that accentuated the blue of his eyes. ‘Can I hug you? It’s what you do if a friend is leaving, or coming back or…’

Spock was aware of the mechanics, even if it was not something he was practised in. He crossed his arms behind Jim’s shoulders, drawing him to him gently. Jim put his head on his shoulder, and put his arms around his waist in a loose embrace.

 

They stood like that for a few seconds, but Spock could feel his heartbeat quicken. Before his body had time to respond further to such a stimulus as Jim – _the warmth, weight and scent of him_ – Spock gently disengaged himself. He stepped back, picking up his bag and walked to the taxi.

 

‘Take care of yourself. Or at least let Doctor McCoy take care of you.’

Jim smiled, a radiant light to rival the sunshine of a hot summer afternoon. ‘See you soon Spock. Remind them that you’re a Starfleet officer – don’t let the VSA pressgang you.’

 

Spock got in the taxi and waved to Jim as it drove off, watching as Jim became smaller in the distance until the vehicle turned a corner. He turned round in his seat to face the direction of travel, and entered a light meditative state.

 

This would be good, this opportunity to help with the colony and get some time and distance.  To process his thoughts away from the constant wonderful distraction that was Jim.

 

It was not running away.

 

*

 

Spock stood on the balcony of his father’s home watching the reflected light of the luminescent insects. Like will-o-the-wisps, Jim had said of a similar phenomenon once. Such natural ponds had been rare on Vulcan-that-was. This one was on his father’s property, approximately five by six metres.

 

Sarek’s new home was much smaller than the old family residence, as the Vulcan Council had decided that it was more logical to build homes as quickly and efficiently as possible rather than waste resources on building big houses. Sarek, as a widower with no infant dependents, needed less space than others with families. In deference to his status as ambassador it was set slightly away from the other residences in the district. It lacked the grandeur of their old home, but Spock found himself thankful for the difference. If things had been a facsimile of what had been, it would have been harder to bear.

 

This time with his father would no doubt be tense enough.

 

He heard the soft tread of his father coming behind him and turned his head slightly to acknowledge him.

 

‘It is, as the aesthetes would say, a beautiful evening, is it not?’ he said in standard.

 

Spock was taken aback, though he showed no physical sign of this. His father had always conversed with him and his mother in private in Vulcan, and to break the habit now seemed uncharacteristic. Shocking, even.

 

‘Are you well, Father?’ he replied in Vulcan.

 

Sarek sighed, another outward sign of emotion that Spock could not recall ever hearing from his father. Even when he had argued with him over his decision to apply for Starfleet, and was the angriest he had ever been with Spock, his face had shown no expression other than his usual blank countenance, and he had not even raised his voice.

 

‘Standard please. Indulge an old duhsu.’

 

‘You are hardly a fool,’ Spock replied in standard, easily slipping between the two languages.

 

‘Everyone is a fool in some aspect, some more so than others’. He stood next to Spock but continued to look out over the grounds. ‘We’re all mad here.’

 

A contraction from Sarek was the behavioural equivalent of a Terran president removing their clothes and running naked through their own inaugural parade (that had only happened once in recently recorded history). ‘You are quoting from Alice in Wonderland.’

 

‘It was your mother’s favourite.’

 

‘I am aware.’

 

Sarek looked at Spock, his eyes a touch softer than usual. ‘Did you know I was the one that introduced her to it?’

 

Spock shook his head. It seemed a highly unlikely possibility. ‘The book is inherently illogical. Deliberately so.’

 

Sarek nodded. ‘That is why it was always one of my favourites. I thought your mother, being as lost in Wonderland as Alice was, would appreciate the sentiment.’

 

‘In the sense that she was a Terran among Vulcan society? Our rules and social mores must have been strange to her, and difficult to adapt and conform to.’

 

‘Yet she adapted magnificently.’

 

‘She was remarkable in that way, and in many more.’ Spock was hit by a sharp stab of grief that made him feel almost sick. ‘S’ti th’laktra, he whispered.  I grieve with thee.

 

Sarek put a hand on his shoulder, an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture. He withdrew it after a few seconds, enough time for Spock to detect his sadness, his regret and a feeling of guilt.

 

‘She was remarkable. Yet, I do not speak of her accomplishments, or her achievements, great as they were, and surpassing those of any Vulcan I have ever known. She was remarkable because of her love, and the strength of it for myself, and for you.’

 

Spock began to feel like Alice himself, falling down the rabbit hole into a world that made no sense.

 

Sarek continued to look back at the view. ‘Her love for you, her capacity to give so much support and encouragement, meant that I…I grew complacent in my own role in your development. She was so good at being there, at caring for you, that I let her take that responsibility all but entirely upon herself.’

 

‘Aside from your ambassadorial duties, you could not be expected as a Vulcan to deal with the human emotionalism I had as a child.’

 

‘Spock, you did not feel things more deeply because you are half human, but because you are _half-Vulcan._ ’ Sarek replied, a subtle sharpness in his voice, like a stiletto hidden in a sleeve. He lowered his eyes, and his voice returned to its usual measured tone. ‘Vulcans are a passionate race, however much we try to deny it to others and ourselves. We feel things deeply, we are violent to the extreme in our emotions… we just do not express these emotions. To not _show_ one’s feelings is not the same as not _having_ feelings.’

 

His eyes met Spock’s. ‘This is my failing. It should have been me, as your father and as a full Vulcan, to tell you this. I have let you live under a misapprehension for many years, and that is something inexcusable.’

 

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Both contemplated.

 

‘You are saying that I should feel things but not express them?’

 

‘I am saying that what you feel or do not feel is your privilege. What you choose to show and to whom is your decision, and the consequences thereof are yours to deal with. ’

 

‘This seems to be against Vulcan teachings, as many Vulcans have understood them. My peers and tutors were adamant that it was not my behaviour that was a detriment but the fact that I felt something in the first instance. ’

 

‘Spock, we have lost so much, as a species and as individuals. Hypocrisy and self-denial are two indulgences we can no longer justify.  Holding onto tradition purely because it is tradition is illogical. We adapt or we die.’

 

Spock allowed himself a quirk of his lips. ‘This conversation has been most illuminating, thank you. I have one query.’

 

‘Only the one?’

 

‘I may have many when I have processed all of this more fully, yet if you could answer this initial enquiry I would be most grateful.’

 

‘Gratitude may not be your response. What is your question?’

 

‘Why did we have this conversation in standard and not Vulcan? ‘

 

Sarek inclined his head to one side. ‘I have no one else in my circle of peers and colleagues that speak standard as eloquently as you do. I … I find I miss the sound of it.’

 

Spock placed a hand on his father’s forearm, a light quick touch. ‘I understand the sentiment.’

 

‘Goodnight Spock,’ said Sarek turning to leave.

 

‘Goodnight.

 

  *

 

Three nights later Spock sat by the edge of the pool in his wetsuit, his legs dipping in the water. He had previously run scans on temperature (a full twenty point six degrees Celsius warmer than the pond in Avignon, even accounting for the time of day), depth (one point five four metres) and for contaminates or potentially hazardous fauna or flora. A few species of almost microscopic plankton and water insects, some indigenous pond weed, but nothing that would endanger or even disturb him.

 

He slipped into the water and floated on his back, moving his hands and feet to keep afloat. From a scientific viewpoint it was interesting to note that freshwater lacked the buoyancy that saltwater possessed; from an aesthetic perspective it was incredibly pleasant to see the stars above, the ink black of the sky littered with hundreds of bright white lights. The Vulcan Science Council had already given the constellations of New Vulcan scientific and logical names, nothing of the romanticism or folklore that Terran society would have attributed to them.

 

A pity really.

 

He perhaps should be meditating instead of swimming, as per standard Vulcan discipline. He had just had one of the longest and most awkward conversations with his father, and had many separate thoughts to parse; however, he found his current activity almost akin to meditation.

 

An hour earlier he had sat at the table across from his father eating in a companionable silence when Sarek had commented ‘You do not speak of Nyota at all. Are you still engaged in a romantic relationship with her?’

 

Spock nearly choked on his plomeek soup. ‘She decided to terminate our romantic involvement.’

 

Sarek pursed his lips, a barely perceptible movement. ‘I am sorry.’

 

Spock appreciated his father’s concern, but found it to be unnecessary. ‘Thank you, yet I agree with her decision, even if I admit to some discomfort and regret. She has stated she wants to remain friends, and I sincerely hope we do. As we will most likely still be working together, I trust her to at least remain professional.’

 

‘If I may enquire, did she offer a reason?’

 

Spock felt his cheeks heat. ‘She felt that what she wanted something I could not provide… She… she felt I had developed feelings for someone else.’

 

Sarek nodded. ‘And have you?’

 

Did Vulcans lie? Spock had always been told that they did not, that it was illogical to pretend something was not as it was. How about hoping for some prescient force in the universe to manoeuvre a well-timed distraction, like an urgent communique or freak weather occurrence? Was that illogical?

 

Spock tried to ignore the question. Yet part of him felt he owed his father for his previous honesty, that there was an imbalance between them.

 

He sighed quietly. ‘She was correct in her assessment. I had not realised. I did not behave inappropriately with anyone, and did not, as Terran vernacular expresses it, ‘cheat on her’… yet, I…’ He swallowed. ‘It would not be fair for her to be in a romantic relationship where she is not the sole recipient of the other’s most inner thoughts and feelings. Where she is not the most important person in their life.’

 

Sarek tilted his head to the side, his eyes unblinking. ‘Is it James Kirk you harbour these feelings for?’

 

Spock felt the tip of his ears flush with heat. He was overcome with panic. Was his attraction so noticeable, so obvious? Was it written above his head in neon letters? Did his colleagues know? Oh Surak, did Jim know?

 

He breathed in deeply through his nose for seven beats, breathed out for eleven. He did this multiple times until he calmed.

 

‘That is an interesting assessment.’

 

‘You neither confirm nor deny. That is more interesting,’ Sarek remarked.

 

‘I wonder how you came to such a conclusion.’

 

‘Over many months. In your written and verbal correspondence you have mentioned him forty-four point six percent more than any of your colleagues.’

 

‘Naturally, he is my commanding officer. My role is to support him, and this encompasses not only following his orders but also anticipating them, as well as assessing his psychological state and well-being. I am to assume command if he is unable, yet essentially I am there to enable his command.’

 

‘You sound like a first mate rather than a first officer.’

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘You refer to the Terran pirate? That is an archaic and romanticised notion.’

 

Sarek spread his hands and nodded. ‘Perhaps it is an overly figurative comparison. Yet, there is something almost piratical about James Kirk.’

 

‘His physician Doctor McCoy, for all his paranoiac idiosyncrasies, would not allow Jim to develop such nutritional deficiencies for ‘scurvy’ to…’

 

Sarek held up a hand. ‘I meant in the sense that he is a respected, capable crewman, skilled at leading others and brave in battle. Yet, he has developed a reputation to be rebellious and formidable.’

 

Spock acquiesced on that point. ‘He has a somewhat colourful past, a reputation that even I have been guilty of being swayed by. Yet, these last months, he has shown himself capable of much discipline and intelligence.’

 

Spock’s voice softened, though he was unaware of it. ‘He is a kind and compassionate individual, incredibly curious.’

 

Sarek got up from the table, and refilled Spock’s water glass from the jug on the sideboard. He sat down next to Spock and passed him the glass.

 

‘Though one would argue there is something… something about the pirate about him. A certain allure, perhaps?’ Sarek leaned slightly towards Spock, his voice a lower volume. ‘Additionally, in your communications you mentioned him often in regards to off-duty activities, such as your ongoing chess matches, your sparring together and sharing literature.’ His voice dropped to a volume that was almost a whisper. ‘Also, when did Captain James T. Kirk become ‘Jim’?’

 

Spock downed the water in a few gulps. He contemplated fleeing, though that would be exceptionally ungracious. Also, where would he go? He was in his father’s home on a planet alien to him. Spock felt a spike of adrenaline, a boldness in the fact that he felt as if he had been laid bare and there was nothing else to lose.

 

‘You do not approve?’

 

‘You do not need my approval.’

 

‘Needing is not the same as desiring,’ Spock countered.

 

‘You judge me prematurely. Do you think I would not approve because he is Terran or because he is male?’

 

Spock looked away from his father’s gaze. ‘I do not believe you to be a hypocrite. I know you loved my mother, and never found her less than your equal.’ He looked at his hands, laid them in his lap. ‘Yet, I have some worry that as he is male…’

 

Sarek’s voice became icy. ‘You do not believe me to be a hypocrite, but a bigot instead?’

 

Spock felt his fingers clench. ‘No… it is just… I have failed in so many of your expectations. I am in Starfleet, instead of the Vulcan Science Academy. I am enamoured with a human male instead of with a Vulcan woman of good standing.’ He felt his throat constrict. ‘I am undesirous of children, therefore cannot carry on the legacy of the house of Sarek…’

 

Sarek put his hand on his shoulder and waited for Spock to meet his gaze. ‘Spock, you are my son. You are here because your mother and I wanted you, not because you were to fulfil expectations.’ His voice grew soft, regretful. ‘If I made you feel otherwise…’ He removed his hand, but kept it near Spock’s face. ‘May I meld with you? There is something I want to express, yet I feel neither Vulcan nor standard is appropriate for conveyance.’

 

Spock nodded. ‘Yes,’ he consented, and closed his eyes. He felt the fingers on his face, his father’s touch as light as a cobweb.

 

Jim had asked what a meld was like over a chess game once. He had his own experience, and reported it as a series of images, blurred sound. Coherent but overwhelming. Spock told him that a meld could be done like that, but only if rushed or forced. A true meld, one that encompassed both feeling as well as factual memory, was more like following a thread in the Gordian knot. You hid your thoughts and feelings from unwanted perusal not by constructing shields or locked doors or walls, but by entangling threads, obfuscating, deliberately leading the other somewhere else.

 

In retrospect, that Spock had even shared such knowledge with Jim about such a private experience was testimony, if he had been aware, of how much psychological intimacy he had with his friend. How much he had given away to him.

 

Of how much Jim had given him.

 

Sarek was an adept, and they shared a familial bond, meaning the meld was efficiently and quickly established. Spock could see, from Sarek’s viewpoint, the kitchen as it had been on Vulcan-that-was, a small infant (himself) seated at the table and Amanda kneeling to be at eye-level. Sarek had not been noticed by either of them.

 

The infant – _himself/his son_ \- was giggling. His _mother/wife_  was pulling silly faces and giggling as well, the soft musicality of her laughter lifting _his/my_ spirits. He sees Amanda - _Love of my life, my heart, my soul_ – turning at the sound of his footsteps, her smile in her eyes. The softness in her face, the sweetness there. Here was his family. Here was home. And though he wanted to join in, yearned to – _want to, need to, please_ – he did not know how.

 

The infant – _myself/my son_ – had been reaching out to Amanda, until he saw his father. Big brown eyes shuttered closed briefly, then he put his hands down by his side. Already he had learnt he should not reach out. Not to touch.

 

Guilt, not his own, flooded Spock’s mind, and he felt his father withdraw, like a stubborn tree root from hard earth. It was not painful as such but uncomfortable. He felt moisture at the corners of his eyes, and he shook his head to clear it.

 

Sarek’s voice was soft. ‘I know I was disappointed with your decision to join Starfleet, yet in hindsight it was better for us all. If I was worried about legacy, my work stands on its own merit.’ He looked at Spock. ‘I would rather you were happy alone than with a partner who was not worthy of you or did not make you happy.’

 

He looked away. ‘I know happiness exists, even for Vulcans.’

 

There was a pause of ten of Spock’s elevated heartbeats. Sarek looked at him again. ‘If nothing else, remember this: you were born because you were wanted, not to fulfil expectations; you are free to live your life Spock, and I trust you to live it well.’

 

Sarek got up before Spock could think of anything to say. ‘If you will excuse me, I have work I must complete. Goodnight Spock’.

 

Spock returned his father’s goodnight. He cleared the dinner things and then realised he was far too restless to read or meditate.

 

So now he was in a pond, floating on his back, contemplating.

 

*

 

He had a message waiting for him on his padd from Jim.

 

_Spock,_

_I hope you’re good and your Dad is well. Been a few months, and I miss our chess games. And our swimming._

_I miss you._

_Anyway, human sentimental mush aside, good news._

_Passed the fitness and psyche eval, found fit for duty. The next five years are going to be great._

_Any second thoughts, best to say now. We go back into the black in three months._

_Attached is a crew roster, as well as shitloads of files and acquisition forms. Please go through them, tell me what I haven’t thought of. Correct my grammar / spelling etc, I know you secretly enjoy that._

_Can’t wait to be working with you again. To boldly go where no man has gone before (I told Uhura that and she lectured me about Victorian rules on split infinitives and the outdated use of the term man instead of something non-gendered – I said that I would put fifty credits on finding a pissed off female god at the end of the universe, pretty much annoyed with everything we’ve done so far, and that she would remind me a lot of her – I got punched in the arm and called an ass. It was deserved, but still, ouch, is she made of iron?)._

_Bones says hi, Joanna says Mr Pickles sends his best, and I will see you when you get back from Vulcan in a few weeks. If you’re up for it, would be great to meet near Starfleet HQ. I am currently renting near there, and I owe you at least a drink._

_All the best,_

_Jim_

_CAPTAIN Jim_

_PS SSSSSSPPPPPPAAAAAACCCCCCEEEEEE!!!!!!!!_

 

Spock could not help smiling at the missive. He was relieved to be working with such a fine crew again, and he was almost impatient to start what would be an incredible mission full of scientific possibility.

 

However, he felt he needed to be honest with Jim about his feelings, to maintain a solid, candid working dynamic. If they were not returned, he would learn to move past them, maintaining his professionalism. If it cost him the position, so be it, though he knew Jim would never be so cruel.

 

Yes, it would be logical to discuss the parameters of his and the captain’s relationship before embarking on the mission, rather than concealing them in case it caused problems later. To do so as soon as possible would make the most sense, leaving a few months to deal with any possible psychological fallout before embarking.

 

Spock sent a quick reply to say he would be back on Earth in a week, and would be happy to meet near Starfleet HQ. It would be easy enough for him to find accommodation on academy grounds, especially since he would be willing to take up teaching again in the interim.

 

Yes, his decision was entirely logical.

 

Then why did he feel so terrified?


	2. Captain's Log

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'We are each made for goodness, love and compassion. Our lives are transformed as much as the world is when we live with these truths.' Desmond Tutu
> 
> Jim's point of view of Avignon and beyond.

Kirk waited in the lounge while Bones put Joanna to bed. He could hear the murmur of Jo’s stage whispering and Bones’ drawl. He sounded different when he was with her – softer, happier.

 

A pang of something – regret? jealousy? – but Kirk swallowed his glass of bourbon quickly to drown it. His tolerance of alcohol had diminished somewhat after his death, though there was no chance in hell he was going to have this conversation entirely sober.

 

Bones walked in a moment later, Mister Pickles in hand. He held it out. ‘Jo says you looked sad, so you can have Mister Pickles stay with you until you’re happy again.’

 

Kirk took it, stroking his fingers across the toy fur. ‘She’s very perceptive,’ he replied, meeting his friend’s eyes. ‘She takes after you that way.’

 

Bones snorted. ‘Yeah, but she’s a helluva lot nicer.’

 

Kirk nodded, placing Mister Pickles on the small coffee table in front of the remains of an earlier card game. ‘There. If she asks, we played snap. Mister Pickles won, naturally.’

 

His friend’s eyes drifted to the empty glass on the table and raised an eyebrow. Kirk shrugged. ‘I can’t hold my booze anymore, but it’s not as if I’m captain now.’

 

Bones crossed his arms. ‘Damn it Jim, let me put my feet up before we get into a counselling session!’ he drawled. He crossed over to the armchair, plonking it into with a slight huff. ‘I ain’t your CMO yet.’

 

Kirk smiled. ‘So, you’ll think I’ll ask?’

 

Bones rolled his eyes. ‘You’d be an idiot not to. Well, more of one than you already are.’ He sighed. ‘Aside from the personal benefit of having someone who knows your medical history so well he doesn’t even need to check his files…’

 

‘You make me out to be some sort of plague-carrier. It’s just a few allergies,’ Kirk griped.

 

‘I’m one of the best surgeons, and general physicians currently on Starfleet’s roster, with accolades –accolades, Jim! - in psychology and exobiology. I’m also the only one young enough and stupid enough to go on a five year mission to meet with god-knows-what in the ass-end-of-the-universe.’

 

Kirk poured himself another glass, and one for Bones. ‘You could stay on Earth. Jo is here.’

 

Bones sighed and took the glass, his hand shaking slightly. He swirled the contents around, his eyes staring into its depths. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I could, but I don’t want ringside seats to watch my kid raised by someone else.’ He gulped his drink quickly. ‘Hell, that’s even if my ex stays on Earth and they don’t go moving to another planet in the quadrant. I could get a contract on Earth and they could move anyway.’

He held out his glass and Kirk poured him a generous shot. He gave Jim his patented stink-eye until he poured out a lot more. ‘Besides,’ Bones began, sipping his drink, ‘I get five years of documenting previously unknown phenomena. From a career viewpoint that’s brilliant; from a personal viewpoint, well, I’m more than a mite curious to see what’s out there.’

 

Kirk could empathise with curiosity. Once upon a time his teenage self had spent two hours scrambling over a rocky ridge just to see what was on the other side. All he had to show for it was scratched palms and knees and a view forever seared into his nightmares.

 

Bones was staring at him, brows drawn together. Kirk realised he must have been staring into nothing for longer than he realised. ‘Sorry, miles away,’ he mumbled.

 

 ‘I’ll bet,’ Bones scoffed, but did not push further. He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll be signing on the pointy-eared hobgoblin as well, won’t you?’

 

Kirk rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, Commander Spock, if he agrees. Bones, I know you did those same sensitivity classes all cadets had to do in orientation…’

 

Bones smiled. ‘That mean I have to put up with you two making googly eyes at each other for the next five years?’

 

Kirk choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, tears streaming from his eyes, and his face flushing. He glared at Bones only to find his so-called friend grinning wickedly. ‘What the hell?’ he managed to get out, with some difficulty.

 

Bones pointed a finger at him. ‘I know you. Better than you know you. And I know Spock pretty damn well too, even if he is as irritating as ants at a picnic. Besides, you don’t have to be a specialist in the nuances of the Vulcan psyche, or even that observant, to notice a complete emotional rampage.’ He picked up his glass again. ‘He was a mess, Jim.’

 

Kirk felt guilty talking about Spock and the day he died, rather than talking to Spock about it. He knew from hints other people had given him that Spock had been the one to apprehend Khan. And that he had almost killed him in the process.

 

He felt queasy. He needed to change the subject. ‘Still, personnel queries are all well and good, but I don’t know if I’ll even be on the Enterprise. My psych eval –‘

 

‘Will go fine!’ McCoy waved a hand dismissively, but his eyes were kind. ‘I’m your friend first and foremost, but I’m a doctor too, ain’t I? You should trust my diagnosis.’

 

Kirk put his glass down, and ran his hands through his hair then put them in his lap. ‘But I don’t think…’

 

Bones slammed his glass down. ‘Now listen Jim, what happened to you was awful and shouldn’t happen to anyone. But you are here now, and you are working through it, and you are doing a damn fine job. Recovery is two steps forward –‘

 

‘One step back, I know!’ Kirk snapped.

 

‘No, idiot. It’s two steps forward, then you fall down a hole, then you spend time getting yourself out of that, then you carry on two steps forward again!’

 

Kirk sighed. ‘I’m sorry Bones.’

 

Bones shrugged, a conciliatory gesture. ‘We all get annoyed sometimes. Don’t sweat it.’

 

The two men drank their bourbon and played cards for the next few hours, and the Enterprise was not mentioned again.

 

*

 

Jim knew why he had invited Spock to Avignon: he missed him. It was a shock to his routine to go from seeing him almost every day to not seeing him for weeks on end.

 

The fact he had technically died may have had something to do with it. There had been many times he had been close to death, but this time he had been near enough to shake its hand.

 

He lay on his bed in the time between PT and lunch watching the sunlight and shadows move across the ceiling. He was supposed to be resting. His body felt exhausted, his limbs leaden, but he could not get his mind to slow down.

 

He was bored. He felt like some nineteenth century debutante confined for neurasthenia – any minute he was going to go completely insane and start stripping the wallpaper. Except he could barely move, as if he were swimming through tar.

 

Dear god, how long was he going to be like this? How long until he got his strength back? How long until a short walk to the kitchen for breakfast didn’t have him wheezing, black spots dancing on his vision?

 

Thank god for Bones. For all his melodrama and caustic cynicism, he seemed to know when to push and when to leave it be. When working Kirk through the exercises, he never lectured and never patronised, never losing patience.

 

And Spock…Spock was there, a calming presence in the afternoon, going through reports. The quiet focus, the occasional glimpses of his dry humour. It was almost like being on the Enterprise again, doing reports together in his quarters.

 

He had spent a lot of time with Spock. As well as shared bridge shifts, they spent several evenings a week playing chess or sparring in the gym. They often ate dinner together in the mess hall, arguing over philosophy or literature. Jim had argued with him for almost a month to let him make a playlist of music for Spock to listen to, in return for listening to the Vulcan lyre; Spock had refused, comparing Kirk’s taste in music to ‘a controlled explosion in a crate of scrap metal’, then huffed when Kirk accused him of figurative analogising.

 

In hindsight, perhaps it was not a surprise that Uhura had broken it off with Spock. When did they have time to be together as a couple? Jim felt a stab of guilt, cold and sharp. Did he have something to do with it? Had he monopolised Spock’s time?

 

But they were friends, weren’t they? That’s what you did with friends, close friends, you spent time with them. Shared similar interests. Indulged in your hobbies together. Talked for hours after a shift, partly because you wanted to win the argument, partly because you didn’t want them to go because you’re happier when they’re around…

 

A thump overhead interrupted Jim’s thought. He could hear Jo running down the stairs with the grace of a bag of bricks, and then Bones muttering after her. It must be close to lunchtime.

 

He sat up slowly, breathing deeply. A wave of pain hit him across his chest; he waited until it had subsided before slowly, shakily getting to his feet.

 

He would get better. He had to get better.

 

*

 

The problem with doing nothing but thinking was that one of the last places Jim wanted to be was inside his head. If left alone too long, without something to focus on – a problem, an equation, a book, anything – the doubts would creep in. Sometimes that nasty voice inside his head sounded like Frank; other times more like Kodos; the one with the nastiest comments sounded just like his own.

 

*

 

Admittedly a wetsuit did not suit Spock as much as his Vulcan robes or science blues. Still part of Kirk could admit that it did accentuate the lithe muscle of his friend, his long legs and slim hips, powerful arms…

 

Spock with wet hair and a disgruntled expression was both hilarious and adorable.

 

‘I am not as proficient at this as I wish to be,’ Spock told him, his tone as close to petulant as Kirk had ever heard.

 

‘Thank god, even you can’t be perfect all the time.’ Jim replied. Wait, what did he just say? Did he just call Spock perfect?

 

Just banter, gentle teasing. Not flirting. That would be weird.

 

*

 

That night, Jim dreamed of Tarsus IV.

 

He was standing on that ridge again, as he was now and not as he was then, overlooking the fields below. Except they weren’t fields but scorched earth, and they were full of trenches. Next to him was Khan. He held out his finger, pointing at the field below, like the Dickensian ghost of Christmas yet to come.

 

Jim followed his gaze, even though part of him knew he did not want to. He tried to close his eyes, but they would not obey. Down below were men and women, dressed in the same bright orange overalls, digging the trenches. Men with black military uniforms, the praetorian guard of the elected committee, stood in a long line watching the workers.

 

Jim tried to shout down to them, to warn them. The wind around his ears was sharp enough to cut glass, and the shrill piercing of it carried the sound away, as ineffectual as raindrops on concrete. He tried screaming, the force of it burning his throat. He could hear Khan laughing beside him.

 

Except it wasn’t Khan anymore, the features melting and rearranging, like clay on a potter’s wheel. Jim could hear the gunshots from down below, and the sounds of the people screaming. An abattoir in the open air. Yet, he could not look away from the horrific figure beside him.

 

In seconds that felt like years Khan became Kodos. It made sense, a small conscious voice inside him said. They were both statuesque, with Shakespearean timbres to their voice, and a charisma that encouraged awe and obedience. They had both been dangerous in their conviction that they were right; their methods were justified; that people were expendable.

 

Kodos was standing next to him, and he was laughing, eyes wide and mouth open as if he wanted to swallow the universe. ‘The needs of the few, the better few, outweigh the needs of the mediocre many.’

 

Jim couldn’t breathe. His limbs felt heavy, and his lungs full of ash. His skin and his bones burned, and his vision went cloudy.

 

It felt like he was in the reaction chamber again. But Spock wasn’t there. Only Kodos and his laughter, bleeding into his ears…

 

He woke up to sweat-soaked sheets and a dry mouth. He felt disorientated for a few seconds, breathing to get his heartrate down. He was alone. He was somewhere safe. His ears finally recognised what had woken him; the small timorous knock at his door.

 

He opened to find Spock looking at him, his face in his usual neutral expression, except his eyes were bright with…curiosity? Anxiety?

 

‘Hey, um, is something wrong?’ Jim asked him.

 

‘No, I…I heard you cry out, and thought it might be expedient to see if there was a matter in which I could be of some assistance.’ His eyes lowered. ‘I apologise if I have disturbed you needlessly.’

 

Jim felt like a jackass. He had been loud enough in his sleep to disturb Spock – Spock, who once had the discipline to meditate through Scotty’s snoring, which sounded like the lovechild of a pneumatic drill and an asthmatic bulldog – and Spock was feeling as if he was in the wrong.

 

He shook his head. ‘No, no, it’s…I just…’ He sighed out the words he couldn’t say. ‘I get these nightmares, and…um…’ God damn it, why was he saying this? Spock didn’t need to be burdened with his shit.

 

There was a silence that Jim found incredibly uncomfortable. Nothing disturbed it except the sound of his heart in his throat, and the cicadas outside.

 

‘I should leave you to your rest. Again, my apologies.’

 

Jim nearly grabbed Spock in his desperation not to be alone, but managed to stop himself in time. ‘Wait,’ he gasped, and was almost embarrassed by the neediness in his voice. ‘Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?’

 

When Spock assured him that he had not been disturbed in something that could not be dealt with later, Jim suggested getting a drink. It was a ridiculous excuse to stay in Spock’s company, and he felt like a naughty child claiming they were thirsty and they needed a glass of milk before they could possibly go to bed. He was ashamed but tried to ignore it as they went into the kitchen.

 

They leant next to each other on the counter, barely a hand-span apart, Jim with his hot chocolate (really helping him feel like an adult) and Spock with his tea (a particular blend that had taken a few hours of tinkering with the replicators to code properly). They sat in silence until Jim felt like he owed Spock more of an explanation.

 

‘I have my physical and psyche eval in three months,’ Jim began, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. ‘If I don’t pass, they won’t give me the Enterprise. She will be going on her mission with or without me.’

 

Spock turned to face him, but he didn’t trust himself to meet his eyes. ‘You are anxious about the test?’ he asked.

 

Jim snorted. ‘I am fucking terrified.’

 

Spock put his tea down next to himself, and crossed his arms. ‘You are doing well in your physical recovery. You are getting stronger every day, and with more energy.’

 

Jim looked at him, knowing he was on the verge of tears but he needed to be clear. ‘It’s not the physical, it’s the psych!’ he exclaimed. God, how did he explain it? ‘If they find me psychologically unfit for duty… if I’m grounded while they stock and crew the ship… I won’t…’ His hands began to tremble, and Spock gently took his cup away from him and set it next to his own. ‘If I don’t go…’ He couldn’t, he just couldn’t. He heard himself sob. ‘Gods Spock, the stars are the only place I make sense!’

 

He tried desperately not to cry. It didn’t work. He knew any exuberant emotion made Spock uncomfortable, and he was showing himself at his worst. He felt weak, utterly exposed, and though Spock was far too good an officer to reproach him, he knew he must feel disgusted and reviled by his lack of control.

 

He was surprised by the touch of Spock’s hand on his back, a gentle sure touch smoothing circles that massaged his skin underneath the fabric. It was a comforting gesture, distracting him from his self-reproach, letting him get his breathing back under control. He felt himself calm down enough to apologise.

 

‘Embarrassment is illogical,’ Spock replied immediately.

 

Jim felt himself smile. Spock could always make him smile.

 

When Jim asked how a Vulcan, of all species, was able to cope with such a display of emotion, Spock seemed to deliberate for a few seconds too long. Jim was just about to apologise when Spock started talking about his childhood. Jim wanted to hold him, to comfort him. To take his pain. To go back in time and tell that young Vulcan that it would not be that way forever, that he would find his place.

 

In Starfleet. On the bridge of one of the most beautiful ships in the galaxy. By his side.

 

Jim processed everything Spock said. How he felt about his mother. She must have been an incredible woman, she… Jim felt a horrible twist of his stomach, guilt over how he had talked about Spock and Amanda over the Narada incident. All the atrocious lies he had said, all to provoke an emotional response, to deliberately get him angry. The humiliation he must have felt… dear god, he was no better than those Vulcans.

 

‘All that stuff I said… I didn’t mean it, and it’s not true…’

 

‘Jim,’ Spock began, but Jim did not want him to finish. Needed to say he was sorry before he lost his nerve. ‘Ni’droi’ik nar-tor’ Jim whispered. Forgive me.

 

He met Spock’s eyes, willed him to see the truth of his regret. He was deeply, deeply sorry, and he wanted – needed - to make amends…

 

…and he stared into Spock’s eyes, eyes that were neither Vulcan nor human, but something unique like Spock himself, two pools of honey-brown intelligence and kindness…

 

…and he realised that he loved him.

 

Jim could have laughed out loud. He felt a wave of hysteria but he swallowed it down. How much of an idiot was he? How had he not realised?

 

What was he going to do now?

 

Get the fuck outta Dodge. Rethink, regroup, whatever, but he had to get out now before he did something stupid. Like tell Spock. Or lean on him again. Or take his hand, or kiss…

 

No, best to leave now. After faking a yawn - look, I’m sleepy, totally not running away - he pushed himself off the counter. He placed a hand on Spock’s arm because he was tactile with his friends (that was usual, normal behaviour, right?). He said goodnight then made his way sedately back to his room.

 

He did not sleep for hours.

 

 *

 

After he realised he was in love with Spock, life got a lot more complicated. The comfortable routine they had built stayed mainly the same, though Bones and Joanna stopped taking afternoon walks as it got hotter, instead watching children’s holovids in the lounge. It meant that Jim and Spock were relegated to the kitchen or to walking around the grounds, unless they wanted to watch overly bright and colourful nonsense (‘there is no plot captain, just an onslaught of noise’).

 

They talked as easily as before, about everything and nothing. It was just… he wanted to touch him. To tell him he was beautiful. To hold him and be held by him.

 

Wanted to run his fingers through his hair and muss up that perfectly neat style. Wanted to whisper sweet Vulcan endearments (and some downright filthy promises) in Spock’s ear to make him blush. Wanted to see how far that blush went…

 

When Spock was leaving for Vulcan, Jim was conflicted. The rational, self-preservationist side of him thought it was good, that it would give him some space and opportunity to consider… well, what the fuck he was supposed to do with this epiphany.

 

Another part of him wanted to cling onto Spock, never letting him go.

 

‘Can’t look after me forever, can you Spock?’ he tried to joke, keeping his voice light and jovial with no trace of his heartbreak. Judging by the stink-eye Bones was giving him, he must have failed.

Spock’s voice was soft. ‘Unfortunately not.’

 

As Spock left, Jim found himself pacing after him. When he reached him, he realised how much of an idiot he must have looked.

 

‘Okay, so there’s a Terran custom that usually happens when you stay with friends and then leave…’ _Seriously Jim,_ he thought, _where are you going with this?_ ‘It’s…’ _Use your words._ ‘Okay, you’ll probably not be comfortable…’

 

‘Jim,’ Spock gently admonished. ‘What is the custom?’

 

‘Can I hug you?’ Jim blurted out, his mouth acting completely independently of his brain. ‘It’s what you do if a friend is leaving, or coming back, or…’

 

Spock must have pitied him enough (or just wanted him to stop talking enough) that he put his arms around him and drew him closer. Jim followed his lead, putting his head on his shoulder and placing his arms around his waist.

 

For a few seconds (not long enough) they were the only two in the universe. Jim could feel himself calm, his heartbeat slow. Spock was safe. Spock would protect him.

 

Spock gently broke out of the hug, and Jim hoped he hadn’t made him too uncomfortable. He still had that soft quirk to his lips. Jim had to will himself not to pull Spock back again, to kiss that small hidden smile.

 

‘Take care of yourself. Or at least let Doctor McCoy take care of you.’

 

‘See you soon Spock. Remind them that you’re a Starfleet officer – don’t let the VSA pressgang you.’

 

He watched the car drive off into the distance until it left his line of sight, cursing himself for how cliché that was. Maybe he’d go full Marianne Dashwood, and start playing sad pieces on the piano, moping while looking out the window, sighing to himself all the time.

 

No, some distance would be good. Time to focus on getting better. Time to worry about that psych eval.

 

Bones was waiting for him in the hall, arms crossed and wide incredulous eyes. ‘Did you… did you just hug a Vulcan?!’ he exclaimed.

 

Jim was trying to work it out himself. ‘Yeah, well a half Vulcan. That I know. And I asked permission first.’

 

Bones threw his hands up in the air. ‘You asked permission first? Jesus, you just manhandled a member of an extremely reticent and touch-phobic species.’ He groaned. ‘Spock is strong enough to grind your bones into powder just by squeezing too hard!’

 

‘Yeah, well, he didn’t.’ Jim’s tone was petulant. ‘I asked, we’re friends, it was a friend thing.’

 

Guilt began to crawl in his mind. ‘He probably felt obligated, didn’t he? Oh crap, Bones, I should apologise…’

 

Bones held up a hand. ‘Firstly, Spock has never felt obligated to perform any social nicety. Secondly, I can’t believe the pair of you!’

 

He began to storm off, but of course had to take a parting shot.

 

‘You’re supposed to be a genius, Jim. I mean, he hugged you first.’

 

*

 

Jim had told Spock he hadn’t been swimming since he was a teenager. That was accurate but misleading – he hadn’t swum since Tarsus.

 

When Spock had been with him, it had been fine, great even. He had been focused on teaching Spock, and he’d had fun.

 

It was always easier to pretend when he had an audience.

 

It was nearly ten at night, and the stagnant, late summer air meant that no breeze disturbed the surface of the obsidian black water, the reflection of the stars and moon. There was hardly any noise except the insects, the splosh of the water and Jim’s quiet gasp as the cold hit him through the wetsuit.

 

Bones had been against him going out on his own, but Jim had insisted. He had agreed to wearing a vital-signs monitor as well as taking a communicator and promising to call every fifteen minutes.

 

He needed to test himself. Just because he had a bad experience in the water didn’t mean he needed to avoid it. Didn’t mean it would happen again.

 

The same thing for loving someone; just because it had ended badly (three broken ribs badly) didn’t mean loving someone would always end badly.

 

The crux of it was that Jim didn’t want to love and be loved by _someone_ ; he wanted to love and be loved by _Spock_.

 

He floated on his back watching the stars. When he was very little, he used to look up at them and imagine his dad was up there watching him. As he grew a bit older, he hoped he wasn’t. By the time Pike found him in that bar, he hadn’t given a fuck either way.

 

Ironic really. His father had died before he could have known him, but for so long he had been the biggest presence in his life: strangers always commented about his father; Sam had always resented him as a child, and Jim couldn’t really blame him; his mother often couldn’t even look at him, finding it far easier to stare into the blue of Romulan Ale than the blue of her son’s eyes. How could it be, that for so long the greatest presence in his life was an absence?

 

Part of why he loved Spock was that he was there. Always. Someone whose dry sardonic humour made him laugh. Someone who could challenge him intellectually – he always felt his mind running wild in his debates with Spock, and it was exhilarating. Someone who he was safe with – on countless missions Spock had put his captain’s safety above his own, his behaviour underlined by feeling and not logic (though he always denied it to Bones later).

 

Was it selfish to want someone because you wanted them to be there with you? To be yours?

 

Arguably. Yet, wasn’t romantic love inherently selfish? You take someone from their family, their peers, society in general, and you say ‘they are mine; I am theirs; we will share an intimacy – physical and emotional – that is for us alone.’

 

He wanted Spock to be his. And he wanted to be Spock’s. His friend and confidante. His lover and beloved. Just his…his. And nobody else’s.

 

A timer went off, and he swam to the side to pick up his communicator.

 

‘Kirk here. Still alive.’

 

There was a grunt on the other end. ‘Acknowledged. Another fifteen then I want you out. You’ve been in there a while.’

 

Kirk smiled. ‘Yes sir.’

 

*

 

On the eve of their departure from Avignon, Jim and Bones were once again sitting in the lounge, drinking bourbon. Joanna had wanted to stay up with them, but had fallen asleep half an hour into them talking, and hadn’t woken as Bones had carried her upstairs to bed.

 

Jim sat in the comfortable chair and tried to not let his melancholy overwhelm him. He’d be back on his ship soon. Maybe. No, definitely. Possibly.

 

Bones came in and sat opposite him. ‘Well, Jo is sad to go back home. She may even miss us all for oh, five minutes or so.’ He smiled. ‘She’ll even miss Spock, though I wouldn’t have thought they’d have got on in a thousand years.’

 

‘That’s because you don’t think anyone gets on with him.’

 

‘Well, he’s just so… so logical,’ replied Bones, using the tone one might use with a dirty word. ‘People find that hard to deal with.’

 

‘One might argue that a Vulcan would find people hard to deal with, but Spock gets on with it.’

 

Bones snorted. ‘Take his side, why don’t ya? Hell, you’re carrying a torch for him so bright they can see it in Memphis!’

 

Jim raised one eyebrow in a (poor) imitation of Spock’s signature look, knowing it would annoy his friend. Bones ignored it, pouring himself and Jim another drink.

 

‘Still, nice to spend some time with Jo. Your idea of getting the walking computer over worked out great. You know, Jo was scared to go into the water until she saw you two in it?’

 

‘How come?’

 

Bones laughed. ‘She thought that there might be sharks in it. I mean, what’s up with that?’

 

Jim shrugged. ‘I used to think the same thing when I was a kid. Didn’t like being in a pool by myself, in case of sharks.’

 

Bones looked askance. ‘What?! Really?’

 

Jim felt his hands clench. ‘Yeah, for a long time. Until I realised there were worse things to find in the water.’

 

Bones tilted his head to the side, expression serious. ‘Such as?’ he asked.

 

Jim swallowed, deliberately avoiding his friend’s eyes. ‘Bodies’ he croaked.

 

Bones ran his fingers through his hair and let out a long slow exhale. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘I sometimes forget how fucked up your past is.’

 

Jim sighed. ‘You mean, how fucked up I am.’

 

Bones rolled his eyes. ‘Jim, there’s nothing wrong with you except you’re a pain in my ass!’

 

The two men looked at each other in silence.

 

Jim cleared his throat, could feel a prickling at the corner of his eyes. ‘How do you get over bad experiences? Do you forget them? Ignore them?’ he asked.

 

Bones took a long draught. ‘Am I your counsellor or your confessor?’

 

‘You’re my friend.’

 

Bones leaned back into his chair, making himself comfortable. ‘So, a bit of both.’ The switch between Bones and Doctor McCoy was fluid and elegant. ‘How have you been dealing with them?’

 

‘I… used to try and forget them. I would get into fights, pull stupid stunts. I needed that adrenaline rush, that exhilaration, not to feel alive exactly, but more…’ Jim paused, searching for the words. ‘More to forget, for a little while, that I felt dead.’

 

Bones nodded. ‘Why do you think that was?’

 

Jim shrugged again, a bitter twist to his mouth and an insouciant tone to his voice. ‘Take your pick. Abandonment. Frank. Tarsus. Until Starfleet, my life sounds like a plot from Dickens.’

 

‘I’ll take your word on that; I’ve never read a word of his. Still, I doubt driving a car into a quarry features.’

 

Jim’s lips twitched. ‘More Thelma and Louise.’

 

‘Who?’

 

‘Urgh, you’re the worst Bones.’

 

Jim looked down at the floor. ‘But now…I realise it’s not those heart-in-your-mouth red alert moments that prove you’re alive. I mean, I like the rush, and I love being among the first to discover something, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk of my crew.’ He sighed. ‘Or myself.’

 

Bones leant his head on his hand. ‘Some might argue risk is our business.’

 

Jim’s answer came out in a rush. ‘And it is, and I know anyone who signs up for a five year exploratory mission has to be a little nuts-‘

 

‘Putting it mildly’ Bones deadpanned.

 

‘-But there’s a calculated risk and there’s recklessness, and I think I know the difference.’

 

Bones hummed an affirmative. ‘Life after death gives you a new perspective on things, I guess.’

 

They drank in contemplative silence for a moment. ‘So,’ Bones said, ‘what proves you’re alive?’

 

Jim laughed softly. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s…it’s those little moments, ones which seem insignificant. Might be mundane or ordinary, or even boring. They’re small, yet I think cumulatively they define us. We live in these small moments.’

 

Bones smiled. ‘So, what are these great small moments for Captain James Tiberius Kirk?’

 

Jim’s eyes looked at the floor, seeing something else. ‘Chess with Spock. Chatting to you. Finding a new author’s work. Watching clouds roll over the sky.’ He swirled his drink, watching the liquid. ‘I’ve seen stars be born and die, but just watching them slip past is good enough. Just in the quiet. Not doing. Just watching.’

 

Bones shook his head. ‘I don’t think you’d suit a sedentary lifestyle.’

 

Jim shuddered. ‘Oh god no, I’m insane. I’m totally in this for the adventure.’ He smiled, a mix of amusement and sadness. ‘I just know that’s not the most important thing. I don’t get to rush in, endangering myself or others, just for the excitement. Not when I am responsible for other people. Not when I mean something to other people.’

 

‘For good or ill, everybody means something,’ Bones replied, a touch of steel in his voice.

 

Jim stifled a yawn into his hand, then rubbed it across his mouth and eyes. Bones mentally diagnosed his friend, fully aware it was coloured by his affection. Cobalt eyes, soft lines at the corners. Dark circles underneath (resurgent insomnia). Hair a little longer than usual. Much quieter than when he first knew him. More still.

 

‘I don’t believe we should ignore or repress experiences,’ Bones said. ‘For every negative, I think it best to counter with a positive. Everything – happiness, sadness, grief, anger, hate – is transient. What’s that proverb? This too shall pass.’

 

Jim cocked his head. ‘You know, you make a better physician than psychiatrist.’

 

‘Yeah, well, you ain’t paying me, so drink up, and take your ungrateful ass to bed.’

 

Jim grinned. ‘I love you Bones.’

 

‘You’re alright I guess. Now shut up.’

 

*

 

Jim hadn’t been back to San Francisco since Khan, and seeing the city again was a gut-wrenching mix of the familiar and the unrecognisable – a lot of it had been rebuilt since the attack, though some parts were still under construction. Whole swathes of land were empty piles of rubble, JCBs and cranes scattered about like the bodies of dinosaurs.

 

His mind was still taking him to some weird places.

 

The café he had suggested to Uhura was still doing business, and there was a soft ding from the bell as he opened the door. A Caitian, old and gruff with droopy whiskers, looked up from the counter at the back. ‘With you in a minute,’ he called, then got back to the coffee machine.

 

Uhura waved to him from a back booth. She looked good, pristine and neat as always, in a pretty blue summer dress. He dropped into the seat opposite, smiling. ‘Hi.’

 

‘Okay, so this place has an actual coffee machine,’ Uhura whispered. ‘I’ve only ever seen those in history holovids!’

 

‘I know, right?’ Jim replied, his voice full of enthusiasm. ‘I mean, they’re so much more work than a replicator, but I think it tastes better. Maybe because you can taste the effort, or at least think you can.’

 

Uhura laughed, and Jim couldn’t help smiling with her.

 

The server came and Jim ordered a cappuccino while Uhura ordered another espresso, then there was that ‘are you having anything / I could eat / alright, let’s order something’ conversation which always seems redundant since you are sitting in a café and why else would you be there except to have someone else prepare food for you?

 

Jim’s thoughts were meandering again, and he realised he hadn’t heard what Uhura had asked him. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

 

Uhura tilted her head. ‘I said how are you? You look pretty good.’

 

He winked at her. ‘Always.’

 

Uhura sighed in mock exasperation.

 

Jim shrugged. ‘I feel much better. PT has been going well, Bones has been making sure I eat healthily. Keeping out of trouble mostly. What about you, looking all wonderful as always?’

 

Uhura rolled her eyes, then smiled. ‘Been to see family mostly, which has been good. Taught a few classes, worked on another thesis. Started learning sign language.’

 

Jim whistled. ‘Wow, so you’ll be fluent in what, another week? This isn’t just so you can signal how much of an idiot I am to other people on the bridge is it?’

 

Uhura stared at him. ‘Jim, you know I’d say it to your face.’

 

Jim grinned at her. ‘See, this is why I need you to be my communications officer. For your unwavering respect for those in authority.’

 

Uhura scoffed.

 

Their drinks and food came, and they thanked the server. Jim stared picking at his salad, but he could feel Uhura’s eyes scrutinising him. ‘You wanted to ask me if I was okay working with Spock again.’

 

Jim swallowed. ‘Yeah, and thank god you’re as perceptive as you are, because I had no idea how to broach the subject.’

 

Uhura looked down, her face sad. Jim felt like an ass. ‘Look, I’m sorry to even question you, I just wanted to talk in person rather than a communique. This isn’t official, you can tell me to shove off if you want to.’

 

Uhura sipped her drink. ‘You think I’m going to let any potential discomfort between Spock and myself keep me from the chance of a lifetime? Are you questioning my professionalism?’ she asked, her voice icy.

 

Jim looked right into her eyes. ‘No, I am not. I am not asking as your CO, but as your friend – which, I think we sort of are now, even against your better judgement.’ He sighed. ‘I want you as my communications officer. I want Spock as my first officer. I know both of you are professional and highly capable, so there is no way you would bring any ill feeling onto the bridge. I just…’

 

‘We’ll be fine, ‘ Uhura almost snapped.

 

‘Okay, well,’ Jim cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, you know, can we forget I brought this up?’

 

‘Is this because you feel guilty about Spock and me breaking up?’ Uhura interjected.

 

WHAT?

 

‘…I don’t know, why would you think…?’ Jim could feel himself floundering. He shook his head. ‘I guess, I did monopolise a lot of his time, which probably didn’t help.’

 

Uhura gave him a look that a cat might give a dirty dog. ‘Are you serious?’ she muttered. She rubbed her hand over her mouth. ‘You are both idiots. Such idiots.’

 

There was an uncomfortable pause.

 

Jim crossed his arms over the table. ‘Okay, I’m a jackass in many, many ways, but I have never tried to hurt you. I’m sorry if I did so unintentionally.’

 

‘You fell in love with my boyfriend,’ Uhura shot back.

 

Jim felt his heart in his mouth and ice in his veins. ‘I didn’t realise I had,’ he said without thinking.

 

He could feel Uhura staring at him, analysing him. He felt as if she were picking at him, tearing off bits of flesh, sifting through the pieces.

 

‘You’re…you’re in love with him?’ she asked softly.

 

Jim nodded. ‘I have no idea for how long. I swear I only recently realised, after Khan, nothing happened before, I didn’t even…’ Jim could feel his voice rising, breathed deeply to regain control. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

Uhura began to tap her nails against the table. ‘You know, part of why I broke up with Spock was because he scared me.’

 

Jim felt dizzy by the abrupt change. ‘Why?’

 

Uhura looked down at her hands. ‘Because he always seemed so in control, so peaceful. Then when he went after Khan…’ Her voice wavered. ‘He just turned into something else. Something terrifying.’

 

She cleared her throat. ‘I… I had never realised how much stronger he was than me. The violence he could be capable of.’

 

‘But he stopped when you asked him to.’

 

‘I didn’t stop him, you did!’ she exclaimed, then turned round to see if her raised voice had garnered any attention. Satisfied that no one else was listening, she continued. ‘I told him that you needed Khan to be alive. It was the thought of you that stopped him, not me.’

 

She wiped her eyes. ‘That’s why I broke up with him. You were more important to him than me.’

 

Jim felt his own eyes prickling at the corners. ‘I’m sorry Nyota.’

 

She gave him a brittle smile. ‘Well, I thought about hating you for it, for a while. Then I realised the person who that hurts most is me, and frankly we’ve all suffered enough. Lost too much to hold onto spite.’

 

Jim gave her a weak smile. ‘You are really, genuinely, the best person I know.’

 

Uhura nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’

 

They stayed for dessert and another drink, the conversation turning to other things. Jim asked about Uhura’s family, and listened as she happily went on about all the accomplishments of her nephews and nieces. They talked about Starfleet policies and the recent recruitment drive.

 

Jim felt like they were parting on good terms. They were never going to be as close as him and Bones were – rank stood in the way of that – but at least they were more than just work colleagues. He hugged her goodbye, surprised when she leant to kiss him on the cheek.

 

‘You should tell him,‘ she whispered in his ear, walking away before he could think of a response.

 

*

 

On the day of the evaluation, he declined Bones’ offer of a lift, instead deciding to get a shuttle. He arrived early, spending nearly twenty minutes in the waiting room sitting in a hard chair and staring at the wall, trying to ignore the looks and whispered conversations of the cadets that went past him.

 

The physical tests went fine. Sure, they were tough, and his body burned and ached in protest, but he had always enjoyed physical exertion. To push his limits. So he ran, jumped, swam, pushed, carried, stretched, held his breath and even read letters.

 

That was easy.

 

The psych eval was first a series of questionnaires – in this situation would you a) b) or c) - then Rorschach tests, then they strapped him to a biobed while they showed him a series of flashing images (he did briefly feel like that character from A Clockwork Orange, but prudence told him it would be best not to mention it).

 

He had a brief recess of twenty minutes before he was ushered into a counsellor’s office. A grey haired woman – giving off governess vibes, like a mature Jane Eyre - sat behind a big black desk with a computer terminal, and gestured to a chair opposite.

 

It was a simple plain white room, black desk and chairs, windows on one side overlooking the central courtyard. There was an aloe vera plant in a red pot in the corner and the Starfleet insignia on the wall. Nothing else. No framed certificates, no photographs, nothing at all to suggest anything about the occupant.

 

‘Good afternoon,’ he said, sitting down.

 

‘Good afternoon,’ she replied, with the emotional warmth of a post-Kolinahr Vulcan. ‘Please make yourself comfortable. Physically at least, as we’ll be dealing with some sensitive topics.’

 

Jim kept on his false smile, one he had perfected in dealing with journalists and admirals. ‘Of course.’

 

Jim had many sessions of therapy before, so a lot of the ground covered wasn’t anything new. He had mentally prepared himself for discussion of Frank and Tarsus, as well as the Narada. It was all in his file, and he had been asked about it before. He kept his answers a calculated length: not too short to appear tense; not too long to create a net of words to later get trapped in. He remained politely neutral.

 

The counsellor had already told him that their conversation was being recorded (audio only) and her only movement so far had been to type a few notes on the keyboard.

 

‘How do you feel about your death?’ she asked him. No change in her tone at all.

 

‘I’m not in a hurry to do it again,’ Jim quipped. Ah humour, first line of defence.

 

‘How are you dealing with the fact you technically died?’ she pressed.

 

Jim put his hands on his lap, hoping that any shaking would not be visible. ‘I don’t think there’s anything for me to work through. It was the right decision.’

 

‘Sacrificing yourself?’

 

‘If that’s what it takes.’ Jim swallowed, rolled his shoulders back. ‘If you see other people as more expendable than yourself, you do not deserve to be a captain. Or to call yourself a human being.’

 

He breathed in. ‘I’m more concerned with how my friends and crew reacted to it. Guilty about any suffering they experienced. I mean, say I stayed dead. They’re the ones who would be left to deal with that. Not me, I’m dead.’

 

The counsellor raised a sceptical eyebrow, the only sign of emotion in the hour he had been with her.

 

Jim was not sure why he was still talking, yet somehow it was cathartic. ‘To be honest, I think death is too often a tragedy, too often unnecessary, but sometimes a sad inevitability. And you should mourn the dead, and miss the dead, but the sympathy should lie with the living.’

 

His voice became bitter. ‘They’re the ones that need looking after.’

 

*

 

It was a wait of two days - two days of pacing, starting books he never finished, and generally climbing the walls - before he got the official message from Starfleet.

 

The Enterprise was going to go on its five year exploratory mission. He was going to be captain.

 

He sat on the kitchen floor and wept for what felt like hours.

 

Exhausted, he sent a quick message to Bones ( _Bones: Officially sane. Pack your bags, we’re off to space_ ) and a longer message to Spock. Which, in retrospect, he should have waited until the morning to send, when he was compos mentis.

 

Capital letters in a post script? What had he been thinking?

 

Hang on, _I miss you_?!

 

Smooth Jim, real smooth.

 

*

 

The apartment Jim was renting was little more than a shoebox, but it was close to Starfleet HQ and several very nice restaurants. It wasn’t anything fancy – a small lounge/kitchenette area with replicator; a bedroom that could just about fit a double bed and wardrobe; a sonic/shower room so small that when you sat on the toilet you could stick your feet into the shower; and a cupboard that was filled with boxes of books.

 

In fact the whole apartment was filled with books, piles of paperbacks squatting in corners like bogeymen, several hardbacks strewn on the coffee table. Maybe Bones was right – maybe he had a _slight_ book buying problem.

 

He needed to pack up the few he was taking (a conservative amount of, ooh, perhaps forty or fifty titles…definitely no more than a hundred…probably). The rest he would upload to his padd, which was more practical, but nothing could beat the feel and smell of a book, could it? Especially the really old ones, not the pristine antiques, but the once cheap and cheerful pulp, mass produced and mass consumed once upon a time. Fingerprint stains, cracked spines, wrinkled covers. Jim, who tried not to dwell on his own past, loved to idly speculate who had owned the book before. What did they think of it? What did it say to them? Did it play on their mind long after they had read it?

 

His brain was idling. He should really get on with organising and not pontificating. He should get it done by next week, as next week he was meeting Spock for lunch.

 

Not that he was nervous about that. What a ridiculous suggestion.

 

*

 

Spock turned up at his door exactly on time, 1300 on the chronometer. Jim was prepared for this. He may have spent the morning staring at his clothes and fussing with his hair, but he was ready now.

 

Except he wasn’t, was he? How the fuck do you tell a long-time friend that it isn’t platonic for you anymore, and that not only are you attracted to them, but hopelessly in love with them? What if Spock didn’t feel the same? True, they got on with each other really well, but what if that risked it?

 

He felt himself smile and say hello, almost like a normal person. He gestured for Spock to come inside, adjusting the thermostat by several degrees so it would be more comfortable for him.

 

Spock wasn’t helping by looking gorgeous, dressed in a simple black tunic and loose black trousers. Warm brown eyes looked at Jim and there was that soft quirk of lips. ‘You are looking well, Jim.’

 

Jim carried over a cup of Vulcan tea to Spock, who was sitting down on the sofa. Jim, with the grace of a Labrador, sat down next to him and drank his own tea. ‘Thank you, Mister Spock. I feel well, better than I have in a long time.’ He gave a small smile. ‘It does me good to see you.’

 

_Dear god,_ Jim thought, _who even talks like that?_

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope you do not object to delaying our meal plans? There was something I wished to discuss, and I did not want to do so in a public venue.’

 

‘Of course, Spock.’ _Shit, shit, shit._ Jim put his tea down, folded his hands into his lap and turned towards Spock. ‘What is it?’

 

Spock’s mouth opened and then closed, as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself. He tilted his head, blinked slowly. Whatever it was, it was vexing him.

 

‘Jim, the tea you have given me, it is hard to replicate, is it not?’

 

Jim felt off balance due to this non sequitur. ‘Yeah, but it didn’t take me long, I remembered coding the replicator at Avignon.’

 

Spock nodded. ‘I surmised as such. However, how long did it take you to code that?’

 

Jim smiled. ‘Well, I am a genius Spock,’ he said with false modesty, his hand on his chest. He sighed. ‘Took a while.’

 

‘Two point seven hours? My own attempt took me two point nine, but I am approximating based on your superior coding skills and creative thinking.’

 

‘Okay, that’s a pretty good guess.’ He could feel his cheeks heat. ‘How is that…?’

 

‘I do not mean to interrogate, it just seems like a lot of effort to please a friend.’ Spock looked at him, his stare intense. ‘I think…I am wondering what the parameters of our relationship are, and I am not sure if ‘friend’ quite fits.’

 

Jim felt his throat go dry and his stomach flip. ‘I...um, what would you say we were?’

 

Spock swallowed, his fingers trembling slightly. ‘I feel I should be honest with you, if we are to continue as a functioning command team. I want to make my intentions known. Not that I would act inappropriately or expect your behaviour to change if you did not reciprocate.’ A slight green tinge on his cheeks and ears. His hands twitched in his lap, and he looked down, his words coming out faster and breathier than normal. ‘I sincerely hope that you would not wish to terminate our working relationship whatever your thoughts on this conversation, yet I feel…I feel…’

 

Jim very carefully placed his hand over Spock’s clenched hands, a light touch, a soft caress. His words were soft. ‘What do you feel Spock?’

 

Spock bit his lip, a shocking display of emotion. ‘I feel. That is enough. I have tried so hard to be Vulcan, to be in control of my emotions, to mute any passion or pain. Yet, you make me feel.’ He slowly reached his fingers to entwine with Jim’s.

 

A slow warmth went through their hands, a little buzz of electricity that left Jim breathless. Spock was, by Vulcan standards, kissing him. Quite indecently (wonderfully) thoroughly.

 

‘Jim, I wish to be yours, not as your friend but as your partner. My affection for you has grown, and I have come to realise how much you mean to me.’ His eyes locked onto Jim’s. ‘You are my home.’

 

Jim could feel the tears at his eyes. He felt like weeping, felt like laughing, felt like running out and dancing in the street. He could only answer by placing a soft kiss onto Spock’s lips, gentle and reverent.

 

‘Will you meld with me?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘I know it’s a big ask, but you are really good with your words…’

 

A small crease in the middle of Spock’s eyebrows. ‘I am fluent in multiple languages and dialects…’

 

Jim laughed. ‘I know Spock. Yet, it’s one thing to talk and another to really say something.’ He lifted one of Spock’s hands to his mouth and kissed it, loving the slight shiver that rippled through Spock.

‘Please, I want you to see how I feel. If it’s not too much, too fast.’

 

Spock huffed in mock irritation, and was rewarded with a grin from Jim. ‘We have known each other many months. If this is courtship, it is practically glacial.’ He swallowed. ‘Are you sure?’

 

Jim gave him that beautiful sunshine smile. ‘Yes, Spock. Yes.’ He then placed Spock’s hand over the meld points and closed his eyes.

 

Jim’s mind was unlike anything Spock had experienced – it was like a forest, encompassing and beautiful. There were patches of darkness and dappled shade, but pools of brilliant sunlight as well. It was lush, and verdant, and full of life, ever reaching out, ever curious, ever wanting to learn more…

… and like the plants that twist their stems to face the sun, like the roots that break through rocks to seek water, Jim’s mind reached towards Spock’s…

… _warmth, light, sustenance_

_…want, desire, need_

…And Spock could feel his own mind reaching to join his. Entwined fingers, entwined threads, atoms colliding and joining…

… _I love you_

_… Taluhk nash-veh k’dular… Th’y’la_

When Spock had reopened his eyes, back in the world, Jim had fallen back on the sofa and pulled Spock on top of him. And Jim was warm, and kissing him, and smelled so good, and sounded so good, and the way he moved…

 

*

 

They did not make lunch. Or dinner. They just about managed breakfast.

 

A very late breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, and I hope you all enjoyed this.


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